


The boy who lived (in the cupboard under the stairs)

by howsthismylife



Category: Drarry - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Locked in the broom cupboard, M/M, Romance, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 20:26:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8504239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howsthismylife/pseuds/howsthismylife
Summary: When Pansy decided to take matters into her own hands the outcome wasn't something anybody could have thought of.-Or where Draco and Harry found themselves locked in a broom cupboard.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was only a drabble.   
> I just wanted to write something dealing with Harry's past.
> 
> This wasn't beta read so sorry for the errors.
> 
> This is my first Drarry fic

Draco was going to kill Pansy. He’s going to hex her seven ways to Sunday and she would not recover. She would feel the wrath of Draco Malfoy, sole heir of the Malfoy family. He would burn all her clothes, open the Chamber of Secrets and lock her there forever. Draco, with burning rage, would do all those and more once he gets out of the broom cupboard Pansy had locked him in . . . . with Potter.

  
Pansy had been pestering him about his silly little crush on Potter. She wasn’t supposed to know that in the first place, and he cursed the fact that she was a Slytherin and nothing really gets past her. He loathed her right now.   
It was a slip of the tongue, really. They were having breakfast one morning and as per usual Draco’s gaze turned toward the Gryffindor table. It was a common occurrence, honest, and when the Golden Trio entered the Great Hall Draco had narrowed his eyes at Potter with his messy hair and his stupid glasses with his stupid friends.

  
Perhaps, part of this was his fault. He was too busy sneering (read: ogling) at Potter to fully pay attention to what Pansy was talking about. Draco knew the usual rap: their homework, Pansy’s hate for Herbology which she always claimed to ruin her nails with all the dirt digging and smelly plants, what the Golden Trio was up to.

  
“Weasley looked like a lovesick puppy,” she had noted. And indeed the Weasel did. The ginger was following Granger like a lost lovesick puppy and was obviously holding to her every word. It was disgusting.  
“Potter looks good though,”

  
“Yeah,” Draco had heard it but his mind hadn’t seem to have processed it and just answered.

  
“With his hair all messy like –”

  
“—he just came out of a snogging session, yeah.”

  
“And those eyes . . .” Draco should have been aware of the amusement undertone of Pansy’s voice but, again, he was too busy burning holes (read: tracing the outline of) on Potter’s face. So it wasn’t entirely his fault when he had said, with a huff (read: dreamy sigh), “they’re so green. Like emeralds under the moon light.”

  
He had come to the conclusion that this was all Potter’s fault. If the git didn’t distract Draco like he always does then he would have been aware of Pansy’s snickering and the teasing whisper in his ear, “You’re so gone for the Golden Boy.”

  
Draco Malfoy rarely blush; Malfoys don’t blush. And they certainly don’t splutter enough to spill pumpkin juice all over his robes.

  
He could hear Pansy laughing out loud. It was a good thing the other Slytherins were too busy paying them any mind. Draco could feel his whole face warming up.

  
Since then Pansy had been pestering him to talk to Potter, to ask him to Hogsmede, or Salazar forbid, confess his feelings for him.   
This was 3 months ago. Draco had noted that Pansy’s patience for him had a limit of 3 months. Surely, Draco thought that with his friendship with her he could buy at least half a year but he was wrong. And Pansy was a Slytherin, if not, one of the most cunning of them all. And he knows it’s only a matter of time before she does something to force him to talk to Potter.

  
And thus he found himself magically locked inside a broom cupboard with Harry bloody Potter.

  
Draco had tried opening the door but to no avail. Apparently Pansy made the cupboard to be a magic-free zone rendering his wand useless. He opted on just slamming the door open with his body but scoffed at the idea. He really did not want to ruin his perfectly ironed clothes, and he sure did not want to bruise his delicate skin into punching a hole through the door. (Not that he was sure he could do it.)

  
He was too busy mulling over ways he could get back to Pansy that he almost missed the lack of noise from Potter. And when Draco turned around he found Potter sitting by the wall next to a broom, his head between his head.

  
“Scared, Potter?” there was no response, no comebacks he usually gets when they start bantering. It’s as if Potter could not hear him at all.

  
Draco quirked a brow, waited for a moment before he noticed it. Potter was shivering – shaking? and Draco could hear murmurs coming from the other boy.

  
“Potter?” he frowned. Nothing.

  
He contemplated on what to do. They clearly would not be able to get out of here – not unless Pansy deemed it. They were stuck, and Potter clearly had trouble being confined in a tight space. Draco wasn’t stupid. He knows what a panic attack looked like. And Potter was clearly having one.

  
So, for once, Draco did what any sane, normal, person would do: he crouched down next to Potter and started rubbing circles on his back.

  
“Potter,” he tried to make his voice as soothing as he could before trying again. All those years of sneering and bantering off each other made it hard find the right tone. But he did – or so he thought, but Potter wasn’t still answering to his call.

  
Draco bit his lips and tried something.

“Harry,” he said, leaning down to catch a better glimpse of Potter’s head. His name sounded different in Draco’s mouth. He never would have thought that he would get to call Potter’s name. Draco had fantasized different scenarios on how but he hadn’t thought it would be like this.

  
“Harry,” he called again. The murmuring stopped, thankfully. He could hear Potter – Harry murmuring “I’m at Hogwarts, I am safe. I’m at Hogwarts. I am safe.” over and over again as if trying to ground himself. It clearly wasn’t working.

  
Finally, Harry looked up. His green eyes were unfocused and Draco could see the panic on the other’s eyes.

  
Without thinking he took Harry’s hand and placed it on his chest then said, “Harry, breathe with me. Inhale. Exhale.” Slowly, he could feel Harry matching his breathing. Harry had closed his eyes, concentrating.   
“You’re at Hogwarts,” he said, “And you’re safe.”

  
“Your name is Harry James Potter. You’re a 7th year at Hogwarts and you’re in the Gryffindor house. You’re best friends with Granger and Wease – Weasley. You’re at Hogwarts. And you’re safe.”

  
Draco had repeated this for a while. It had seemed to work because Harry was no longer shaking, and his eyes were back to normal. He slowly let go of Harry’s hand but Harry had squeezed it tightly like he was afraid Draco was going to leave him alone.   
Harry looked so fragile like this, curled on his own body like he was shielding himself from harm. This was the first time Draco had seen Harry this vulnerable. Harry was a Gryffindor; he was brave and strong, and is one, if not the most powerful wizard of their generation. So, it came as a shock to Draco to find out that the only thing, as far as he knows, that could bring The Chosen One to a quivering mess was a confined space – or this cupboard.

  
Draco noted that this was the closest he had gotten to Harry. He briefly wondered what could have happened if he became friends with Harry instead. It must be nice, he thought. But they wouldn’t be Potter and Malfoy.

  
He felt Harry squeeze his hand. It was nice. Harry’s hand was rough but warm. “You called me Harry.” Harry’s voice was hoarse, and Draco wished for water.

  
“Would you prefer Potter instead?”

  
“Harry’s fine,” Harry shook his head. “It’s – it’s nice. It’s like the great Draco Malfoy has finally recognized me or something.”

  
“It’s hard not to recognize you,” he mumbled. Harry looked at him with a small quirk in his mouth. “Well you’re loud, and your hair is always a mess, seriously, Potter – Harry. Have you heard of a comb or a brush? When we get out of here I ought to introduce you to one.”

  
Harry chuckled. It was a nice sound. “You’re a git,” Draco scoffed, “But you’re nice . . . from time to time.”

  
“Yeah, well I’m not a total arse,” their hands were still clasped together and Draco found his interest on the broom at the corner. Who would have known brooms were interesting, even the normal ones.

  
He could feel Harry’s eyes on him, and he’s very aware of Harry’s thumb running circles at the back of his hand.

  
“Draco,”

  
That was his name. His name was Draco. Harry had called him by his name and it sounded different coming from Harry; different but good.

  
He met Harry’s eyes. Had they always been this green?

  
“Is it okay if I call you Draco then?”

  
“Well that is my name.”

  
“How’d you know my middle name?”

  
Draco blinked. He wasn’t expecting the question, firstly. “Well, you’re my nemesis. It’s common to know the names of your nemesis.”

  
“It’s also common to know the name of your friends,” he heard Harry mutter.

  
“Well we could have been friends from the beginning if you had just shaken my hand.”

  
“You insulted Ron!”

  
Draco scoffed, “Weasel had it coming.”

  
“You’re being a git again.” Harry said. It was nice how they could slip back to their usual banter. But this felt different. “Besides you can’t make friends by acting like an arse.”

  
Draco huffed and groaned. He turned to look at Harry and said, “You’re infuriating you know that?” he meant it on a different way but Harry didn’t need to know that. “It’s amazing how we haven’t killed each other yet considering how long we’ve been stuck here.”

  
Harry fell quiet. Draco wanted to punch himself for bringing it up. He should have known that Harry was trying to take his mind off of things and Draco had reminded him of that.

  
“Pansy ought to let us out soon,” Draco winced, “Besides, Granger and Weasley are probably looking for you as we speak.”

  
It had almost slipped his mind. Draco had always been a curious person. And right now he was curious as to what prompted Harry’s panic attack. He so badly wanted to ask. Draco started nibbling on his lower lip. They had just started having a normal conversation for once; he couldn’t afford to make Harry hate him by asking personal questions. But he’s a curious git with less to no filter when around Harry, so, he opened his mouth to speak.

  
“You can ask you know.” Harry said. There was a silent invitation in his eyes and Draco liked to comply. “I can hear you thinking.”

  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

  
Harry quirked a brow, “You’re the first person to see me like this. I’d be surprised if you weren’t curious at all.”

  
“What if I’m not?”

  
“Bollocks.”

  
Draco hesitated for a while.

  
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

  
“I wouldn’t let you ask me if I didn’t.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Hurry up before I regret this.”

  
“Git.”

  
“Wanker.”

  
He could see Harry smile. Draco smiled back.   
“So, uh … you don’t like confined spaces?” he finally asked.

  
“Not necessarily.” Harry said. “This just reminded me of home.”

  
“Home?” Draco frowned. How could a small dark place possibly remind someone of home?

  
Harry fell silent for a moment. There was this blank look on Harry’s face and Draco wished he could wipe it away.

  
After a moment Harry looked back at him and asked, “When you were a kid … what – what did you wanted to be when you grow up?”

  
Draco averted his eyes and pondered. The warmth of Harry’s hand on his was still there and it did nothing to calm his racing heart. He was getting uncomfortable from crouching so Draco shifted, their hands separating when he scooted to sit next to Harry. He bit his lips on the loss of contact but then Harry offered his hand and Draco stared at it. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Harry, afraid on what he might see there on those green eyes of his, but took Harry’s hand back to his.

  
What did he want when he grow up? When he was a kid he had always wanted to know how it felt to ride a broom and soar to the sky, with hundreds of people screaming and cheering for your name. Draco had wanted to know how it felt to have people look at you with awe and adoration.

  
But mostly Draco did what his father asked, did what his father had wanted. The Malfoys weren’t a likeable bunch even when he was a kid, and Draco knew that. He had noticed the raised eyebrows, the sneer and glares of other witches and wizards when they would take a stroll. Draco would often mistake respect with fear, or couldn’t differentiate a fake smile from a real one. They were a family with a tainted history and Draco hadn’t meant to be a part of it but he was.  
And when he couldn’t get the reaction he had wanted from other people he turned to pleasing his father.

  
He smiled sadly, remembering those days where he was a child and his utmost goal was to ride a broom one day.

  
So, what did Draco want to be when he grew up?

  
“I just want to be happy.”

  
The silence that followed was welcomed. He felt Harry squeeze his hand and Draco offered a smile. He hadn’t been this vulnerable before, to just shred your layers and bare yourself to someone not knowing if the others would like what they see.

  
For a moment Draco forgot that they were trapped on a bloody broom cupboard sitting on dirty floor beside a broom. On that moment they were just Harry and Draco, just two teenagers haunted by a dark past – two boys who just wanted an escape.

  
Draco didn’t want to explain himself to Harry, and Harry somehow knew that. He wanted to slap himself. Harry was the one who needed comforting and here he was feeling all down.

  
“When I was a kid,” Harry started. There was a crack on his voice but Draco didn’t dare interrupt. “I used to think what my parents were like. I never knew them,” he looked at Draco and smiled sadly. “My Aunt and Uncle never told me anything about them – just that they died from a car accident.” Draco scooted closer. Harry swallowed and laughed softly, “I’ve never told anyone this … wow. Most of the time – when Uncle Vernon would lock me up in the cupboard I’d lay on my makeshift bed and make up these scenarios in my head where mum and dad are alive.” Harry’s voice started breaking, and together with it was Draco. He had known that Harry grew up on a Muggle household but apart from that he knew nothing more. In fact, most of the Wizarding Britain was oblivious to this – there wasn’t even an article on the Daily Prophet about Harry’s time with his Muggle family. He briefly wondered if Granger and Weasely were aware of this fact.

  
It was both an honor and a curse knowing this side of The Chosen One.

  
Draco shifted their hands together so they were intertwined. He gave Harry an encouraging smile, a silent vow to never let the conversation get out of the broom cupboard. This was between the both of them and they knew it.

  
“But they’re gone,” Harry whispered. It seemed to echo in the room. “They’re dead and I’m stuck in the cupboard under the stairs.”

  
Harry made a pause. And what came out of his mouth resonated on both of them. “When I grew up I wanted to be free.”

  
“Well, that’s something we could both agree on,” Draco said and they both gave a hearty laugh.

  
“I should get a panic attack more often,” Harry commented. Draco raised his brow at him and Harry smiled, “You’re a surprisingly nice company.”

  
Draco turned his head to his other side, effectively hiding a smile from Harry. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

  
“What was that?”

  
“I’m not repeating it.”

  
“No, seriously I didn’t hear it.”

  
“I said you’re not too bad yourself,” Draco mumbled, still refusing to look into Harry’s eyes.

  
“Still didn’t get that.” he could hear the amusement from Harry’s voice.

  
Draco rolled his eyes and finally turned to him. “I said you’re not too bad yourself.”

Harry was smiling. There were still traces of panic in his eyes but other than that they’re bright.

  
“Sod off, Potter.”

  
“We should do this again sometime.” Harry said the same time as he spoke.

  
“What, get trapped in a cupboard?”

  
“No, you idiot.” Harry bumped their shoulders lightly. They were still holding hands but that was the one that sent shivers to his spine. That and Harry’s smile. And just like that Draco was very aware of the position they’re in. He could feel the heat creeping up to his face from his chest to his neck. “I was thinking Hogsmeade?” Harry tilted his head trying to catch his eyes which made the git’s hair fall on his face.

  
The weight on the air was clearing up. That was good, Draco thought. It meant that Harry was getting okay. And apparently his non-existent-Potter filter was back as well.

  
“Like a date?” Draco would deny that his voice got an octave higher but there was no one around aside from Harry to hear it.

  
“If you want it to be,” Harry blushed. It was a sight to behold. “We could – we could start small or something. Hangout – hangout or something. Study together?”

  
Draco chuckled. “How about a Quidditch match? Just the two of us. Loser gets to treat me at Hogsmeade.”

  
“Pretty confident are we?” Harry smirked. “That – yeah, a match sounds good. I have to warn you though, I have been told to be the best seeker at school.”

  
Draco scoffed. “Arrogant git.”

  
They both turned attention to the door where they could hear voices. He was pretty sure it was Granger and Weasley. He looked into Harry’s eyes and saw a hint of disappointment. Draco was, too, he wanted more time. But more importantly he was scared that once they get out of there they would lose whatever connection they had.

  
Harry must have felt the same because he smiled at him and said, “Match this Friday?”

  
Draco smiled back. “Prepare to lose, Potter.” And before the door burst open he mustered all the courage he had and gave Harry a quick peck on the lips before standing abruptly, freeing their hands together, trying his hardest to control his emotions and the warm feeling on his chest. He felt like exploding. Salazar, he just kissed Harry Potter.

  
Quickly, he schooled his expression and glared at Granger and Weasely before passing by them. Pansy was standing around the corner and Draco feared she would read him but he didn’t want to give Pansy the satisfaction that her devious plan worked out. He still had to get her back.

  
Before he could round the corner however, he heard a clear “Malfoy,” so Draco turned around and tried to fight off a smile. Harry was looking all flustered as well, and by the looks of it he was trying as hard not to laugh or smile.

  
They stared at each other for a while. Draco didn’t know for how long. He ignored Granger’s questioning eyes and Weasely’s glares.

  
In the end, Draco settled with, “I plan on buying a new quill. It’s quite expensive.” He turned his back and started walking but without missing Harry’s amused expression and an answering call of “I have plenty of money.” Draco couldn’t help but laugh at that.

+++

The weather’s quite cooperative that day. Their classes have ended and as promised Draco stands in front of Harry Potter with brooms on their hands, a smile on their faces. A few of the student body have gathered around them, oblivious at what they were all about to witness. This is a new start, and they have acknowledged it with a shake of hands.

  
They both mount their brooms and Weasley releases the snitch with a grunt.

  
And just like old times, Draco smirks with fake arrogance he can summon and says, “Scared, Potter?”

  
“You wish,” Harry smirks back.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated!.  
> thank you for reading!
> 
> Drarry has taken over a sizable amount of my hours.


End file.
